


you've got a bad case of being over there, darling (the only cure is being over here)

by majesdane



Category: Criminal Minds, FlashForward, Fringe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5973369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Janis Hawk has seen the end of the world. It's Olivia Dunham's job to save it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got a bad case of being over there, darling (the only cure is being over here)

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on livejournal ([here](http://immortality.livejournal.com/654341.html)). extended notes and information explaining the characters/universes/major plot points can be found [here](http://immortality.livejournal.com/642818.html). this story is actually an adaption/expanded version of an earlier story i wrote called _[the seraphim and the magi](http://archiveofourown.org/works/177880)_.

and then everything that would ever happen, happened.

\-- _iwrotethisforyou_

 

 

** PART ONE : EMILY **

It's not as if Emily's familiar with every branch of the FBI, but it does catch her off-guard when at a crime scene with the BAU -- a strange case up in Boston involving a series of murders in which the bodies had been entirely stripped of their skin -- a black SUV pulls up and four people climb out. One of them is a tall woman with blonde hair; as she strides over to where Emily, Rossi, and Reid are standing, she pulls out her badge, flashing it at them: FBI, it says. Beneath that it reads: Fringe Division.

"Hey," the woman says, extending her hand to Emily. "I'm Special Agent Olivia Dunham."

 

;;

 

They meet again in a bar, of all places.

It's been over three months since Emily first met Olivia, when the BAU flew up to investigate the strangest series of murders that Emily had ever seen. The BAU had spent two days up in Boston before being informed by the Bureau that they were no longer needed; as Hotch had informed the team on the plane, the Fringe Division had taken full control of the case and had already tracked down a suspect. And that had been it.

She's barely even thought about Olivia Dunham and the rest of the Fringe Division that she'd met; for the most part, they'd been largely forgettable, aside from one of the men, who had shown up at the crime scene drinking a cherry slushie. He'd sipped it happily the whole time they were there, despite the gruesome crime scene, and had spent most of the time talking to himself more than anyone else. By comparison, Emily had thought, he actually made Reid look completely normal.

(And she'd remembered Olivia too, of course; she'd never seen eyes that green before.)

So of course she's startled when she walks into a bar two blocks from her apartment and sees Olivia there. She's sitting at the far end of the counter, alone, drinking something amber colored. Emily pauses in the doorway, briefly considers going somewhere else -- or just going home -- but then Olivia looks up and their eyes meet and Emily knows that she can't leave now.

As she walks over, she shrugs off her coat, drapes it over her arm. She nods at the man behind the bar -- Keller, she's known him since she first started coming here after moving to D.C. three years prior -- and slips into the empty seat beside Olivia.

"Thanks," Emily says, as Keller sets down a glass of the usual vodka and tonic in front of her. She stirs it once, takes a small drink of it, turns to Olivia. "Olivia Dunham. Fancy meeting you here. What're you drinking?"

"Whiskey." Olivia arches an eyebrow over the rim of her glass. "I didn't know you were that sort of person," she says with a slight smirk, downing what little whiskey she's still got left. Setting down her glass on the bar with a sharp _clink_ , she nods to Keller, who slides over and refills her glass before going back to wiping down the counter.

Emily frowns. "And what sort of person is that?" she asks, eying her a bit warily, swishing the contents of her drink, watching the lights reflecting off the glass.

Olivia smiles around her drink. "What do you think?"

"I don't know." It's been a long day; the team just got back in front a case in Miami and the last thing she wants to do is play guessing games. Especially with Olivia Dunham, who is now randomly at a bar Emily frequents. Emily wonders if Olivia is here for a job; she hadn't heard anything about there being any sort of criminal activity going on lately. Not more so than usual, anyway.

"You don't look like a bar kind of girl," Olivia says, after a long moment, her smile widening. She puts her glass back down on the bar, already finished again. This time, her glass stays empty. Folding her hands on top of the counter, she stares at Emily . "That's what I meant."

"Well, it's not as if I would have ever told you," Emily says, feeling slightly uneasy, but mostly just tired, watching as Keller slips over and refills Olivia's drink."I mean we've spoken what, maybe a dozen or so words to each other? Not counting tonight, I mean."

"I'm usually pretty good at reading people," Olivia says, and the easy way she smiles makes Emily relax all over again. "But it's okay; I like to be surprised."

Emily smiles back. "Yeah? Me too. Sometimes, anyway."

"Well, I'm full of surprises," Olivia tells her, before downing the rest of her drink and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she slips down off her seat, grabbing her badge and keys and stuffing them into her pockets. She nods once more at Emily. "I have to be going. But maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"Um, yeah, sure."

She watches Olivia go; for half a second, she debates following her. Only for the conversation, she tells herself, then decides against it. She isn't sure how much she wants to be surprised just yet.

 

;;

  
She can't sleep.

She's tried, but she can't. She lies in bed staring up at the ceiling and willing herself to fall asleep -- it doesn't work. There's just too much going on right now, what with all the cases they've been handling and the back and forth between D.C. and everywhere else. And she's barely even gotten started on any of the paperwork that's been piling up on her desk, never mind all the reports she has to write regarding the cases they've already wrapped up. She doesn't really know when she got so busy.

It must be the summer, she thinks, and decides to stop kidding herself that she's going to fall asleep any time soon. For some reason the summer heat makes people crazy; it's always in July and August when they get the heaviest case-loads. Yawning and stretching as she heads down the hall to the kitchen, Emily decides that if she's up, she may as well get some work done.

The clock on her stove reads 12:42 in little red digital numbers.

She grabs a can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and pops it open as her laptop boots up. She's going to need a lot of coffee in the morning, she knows, or she'll never be able to make it through the day. Logging in, she clicks on the little folder on her desktop labeled _Reports_ and starts scrolling through to find the last report she finished. She scrolls past one file that's labeled: _New-Boston_12-04-5769_. Thinks, _Olivia_.

She hasn't seen Olivia since that night in a bar a week ago, but she hasn't stopped thinking about her either. It was so strange running into her in a place like that, especially since they still don't really know each other at all. Olivia hadn't said why she'd been in town and though Emily had been curious, she hadn't asked. She _had_ checked with JJ, just to see if there was some sort of issue going on that would have brought the Fringe Division down to D.C., but JJ didn't know of anything.

Logging onto the FBI network, she runs a search for the Fringe Division. No hits. She tries a second time and gets the same result. On the third try she enters in _Olivia Dunham_ into the search bar. That works; up pops a photo of Olivia, in a plain black suit and crisp white dress shirt with a stoic look on her face, and hard, green eyes. On the left of her FBI photo is a list of all general information about Olivia. Her badge number, height, weight, birthday.

_Special Agent: Fringe Division._

Where the location of her office should be, it simply says: _N/A_.

Curiouser and curiouser, Emily thinks, smiling to herself; Olivia Dunham is quite the mystery. There's no phone number listed for her either, which Emily finds a bit annoying. After their strange encounter in the bar a few nights ago, Emily has wanted to see Olivia again. It's her apparent elusivity that Emily finds both bothersome and intriguing; she wants to know more about Olivia. Wants to know more about this so-called Fringe Division and what it entails.

With a sigh, she logs out of the database and pulls open a report from a case the BAU worked two weeks prior; there isn't anything more she could do tonight and it's too late to call Garcia to see if there was anything else she could find out about Olivia. She will have to ask tomorrow, if there's time.

All she wants is a phone number, really. It shouldn't be that hard.

 

;;

 

Garcia looks at Emily over the tops of her horn-rimmed glasses with an arched eyebrow. "Why do you want me to look up her information again?"

Emily swallows, hopes she isn't flushing. "Because I need to talk to her about something," she says, and it isn't a total lie. "I tried looking for her on the FBI database last night and there's no phone number listed for her and no office either. And I can't call the department she works for because there's no info on _that_ either."

"Well," Garcia says, with barely-concealed excitement, "you make it sound like it'll be a challenge."

"Yeah. I mean, it probably will be. I've asked around a bit and no one seems to know what the Fringe Division is or what they actually _do_ , so if you could find out for me, it would be a lot of help. But getting her contact info is what I really want. I mean, um," Emily says, after a second, clarifying, "so I can talk to her about, you know. That thing."

Garcia gives her a look. "Yeah, okay. I can get working on it. It probably shouldn't take me too long unless something comes up."

"Thanks," Emily says, pleased. "Just give me a call when you find anything, okay?"

 

;;

 

"I have her phone number," Garcia says, when Emily comes into the room. "And her address too, if you want it. I didn't know how much you wanted to talk to her about that _thing_ , so I got as much information as I could."

Emily flushes a bit as Garcia hands her a print off and tries very hard to sound nonchalant when she says, "Oh?"

"She just joined Fringe Division three years ago -- apparently there's a sub-division known as the Science Team and she's the leader of that; it says on her file that she was hand picked for the Fringe Division, but it doesn't say why. Before that, she worked as an Agent in the Department of Homeland Security and before _that_ she served as a US Marine Corps special investigator. And also, she speaks German, Mandarin, and Arabic; I thought you'd like that last bit of info the most."

"Pretty impressive," Emily agrees, scanning the sheet with Olivia's information on it. "Did you find out what the Fringe Division is all about?"

Garcia makes a face. "Homeland Security's got a lock on all their information. I probably could have cracked it, but I thought it would be best to not attract all sorts of unwanted attention."

"Well, something is better than nothing. Thanks Garcia," Emily adds, with a smile.

"Anytime. Let me know how your _talk_ goes."

Emily tries to ignore the tone of amusement in Garcia's voice.

 

;;

 

For five days, eight hours, forty-one minutes and approximately seventeen seconds, the sheet with Olivia's phone number on it sits untouched on Emily's desk, folded into a neat, tight little square and half-under the base of a snowglobe that JJ bought her for Christmas. It's not as if she's scared to call or anything -- she isn't, really, it's just, she doesn't really know how Olivia will react and just thinking about all the possible ways it could play out gives her a headache.

And that is just too much to deal with right now.

 

;;

 

She finally calls.

In the middle of the night, when she's frustrated by trying to work through the details of a case that the BAU is helping out on in Cincinnati. Calling Olivia has been on her mind since Garcia first gave her the number, but she's been putting it off for almost a week and she finally decides that she should either step up and make the damn call or toss out Olivia's phone number and forget about it all.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Emily hopes it doesn't go to voicemail; she hates having to leave a message. She always comes out with the most awkward things and constantly forgets to mention something and if Olivia doesn't pick up now, she's seriously going to hang up and just --

"Who is this?" Olivia grumbles into the phone, and it occurs to Emily only now that Olivia won't recognize her number. Or, possibly, not even remember her.

"Sorry," she says. "It's Emily. Emily Prentiss, I mean, with the BAU. Um, we met a few weeks ago at the bar and before that the BAU and your department had worked on a case together up in Boston.

"Sorry," Emily says again, "But I wasn't sure if this was your number, and I was up anyway, and . . . I thought maybe I'd -- well, it's easy to forget a lot of the time that the rest of the world doesn't run on BAU hours."

There's a rustle of sheets and then Olivia says, "How did you get my number?"

Emily pauses, flustered. Probably should have thought this through before randomly calling her in the middle of the night, she thinks. And then, because it won't actually _hurt_ to tell the truth, she says, "Um, from someone I work with. She's good with finding people. I asked her to find out your number for me."

"Oh?" Emily can almost hear Olivia smirking through the phone. "Is that right? And why would you want to know my phone number?"

"We should meet again," Emily tells her, surprisingly herself with her own boldness. "I mean, don't you think?"

"I don't know -- what does your friend think?"

"She doesn't actually -- if she _did_ know, I mean, she'd probably say that it would be good for me. Because I'm always working. It would be good for me to get out once and a while. You know how it is. Yeah, she'd definitely say we need to meet again."

There's a sound like a muffled laugh. "That would be awfully considerate of her, to look out for your well-being like that."

"It'd probably be best if we followed through with the advice she'd give us."

"Goodnight, Agent Prentiss," Olivia says in an amused tone and hangs up.

 

;;

 

She gets a text the next day: _Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take your friend's advice now, would it?_

It's not until JJ says, "What's wrong? You look happier than usual," that Emily notices she's grinning ridiculously.

 

;;

 

She tries to put together something nice, but after almost an hour of standing in front of her closet and trying to pick out what matches with what, she finally realizes that it just isn't going to happen and pulls out a pair of faded jeans and a pin-striped dress shirt and decides that that's going to be good enough before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

In her head, she tries to work out how the conversation will go. She's really bad at getting past the initial _hello_ -s and _how are you_ -s, especially when it comes to dates. There are a million questions she'd _like_ to ask Olivia, but they all have to do with the Fringe Division and that seems a bit rude to ask. She can already hear JJ tomorrow saying, _Really, Prentiss?_ , and she'd rather not fuck this up right off the bat. Not if she can help it, anyway.

When Emily enters the bar, Olivia's there waiting for her, sitting in one of the booths near the back, drinks at the ready for both of them. A whiskey for her and a vodka and tonic for Emily; Emily can't force back down the grin that creeps across her face as she slides down into the seat across from Olivia.

"How did you know what my favorite drink is? Did Garcia tell you?" she asks, shrugging off her jacket. "Or are you just psychic?"

"You could say that," Olivia says, with a coy smile.

 

;;

 

"I usually don't do this," Olivia pants, only an hour later, her cheek pressed against Emily's and her back pressed against the bathroom wall, as Emily's hand moves up her shirt, squeezing her breasts and feeling her nipples harden through her bra. She's moving without even the slightest bit of finesse and it makes her cringe a bit internally, but fuck it, Olivia doesn't even seem to care.

And anyway, Emily's distracted by the feel of Olivia under her, Olivia's hot breath on her ear, her nails digging into the back of Emily's neck. "What?"

"In bars," Olivia manages, biting back a moan as Emily's hand works it's way inside her bra, her mouth sucking on a spot of skin on Olivia's neck until the blood rises to the surface, leaving a plum-colored bruise. "With girls."

"Oh," Emily says, and kisses her.

Right. Of course.

It only takes her a moment longer to think that maybe they should be doing this somewhere else. It isn't like Emily's entirely against rough, unplanned sex in a public bathroom -- she did it a lot when she was younger, much to her chagrin now -- but there's a time and a place for everything, she knows. And she doesn't just want this to be a one time thing, so she's got to try and make it at least a little worth remembering.

So she pulls her hand away and takes a step back; Olivia lets out a small moan of frustration and stares at her with eyes dark with lust. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Emily tells her, and reaches over to brush a loose strand of blond hair behind Olivia's ear. "I was just thinking -- come back to my place."

Olivia doesn't answer right away and Emily thinks for a brief, panicked moment, that she's said and done the completely wrong things, but then Olivia's stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Emily's neck and kissing her. Hard. Emily can't remember the last time she was kissed with this much intensity, like the whole world is just falling down around her. It makes her swoon, a little; she presses her hand against the small of Olivia's back to steady herself.

"Yeah, all right," Olivia says.

Full of surprises indeed.

 

;;

 

"So what are you even _doing_ in Virginia Commons?" Emily asks, sitting in bed and watching Olivia dress slowly, with none of the hurried embarrassment that Emily expected to see. "Isn't your office up in Boston? I mean, from what I know, there haven't been any issues in the area that would require government agents to fly down."

"That you _know_ ," Olivia says, buttoning up her shirt and staring Emily down through the mirror across from the bed, above the large oak dresser that Emily had inherited from her grandmother years and years ago.

"What?"

Olivia pauses, fingers stilling for a moment, as if she's about to say something. But then she shakes her head and finishes buttoning before reaching for her trousers -- sharp black and still looking as amazingly fresh and crisply pressed as they were earlier in the evening -- and stepping into them.

She says, "It's nothing, really. If you must know, myself and a few others from my department were called down to D.C. for a regular, yearly review. That's it."

Emily frowns. "For three weeks?"

Olivia smiles at her. It's a secretive sort of smile, as if she's trying to say, _you don't know anything at all and you never will_. "We just have a lot to talk about, I guess."

"Oh." Emily picks at a loose thread on the corner of her sheet. "So," she says, watching Olivia comb her fingers through her hair, in an attempt to make it look reasonably presentable. "If you don't mind my asking -- was that really your first time? With a girl, I mean," she adds after a moment, blushing with a sudden onset of self-consciousness.

"No," Olivia says, shrugs. Then, "Well, sort of, yes, but also, not really. It's -- it's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"I did sleep with a stripper once," Olivia remarks in a thoughtful tone, as if making a comment about what the weather had been like the other day. She laughs a moment later when Emily makes a face. "It's a very long and involved story, though, and I'm not really the best one to tell it. Peter actually tells it in this hilarious way that -- "

"Peter?" Emily interjects, bristling a little despite herself.

Olivia dismisses Emily's question with a wave of her hand. "One of my co-workers. Don't worry," she laughs again after a moment, when Emily raises an eyebrow, "it isn't what you think -- I mean, I'm not interested in him at all. We're just partners, is all. Work partners. And anyway," she adds, "he isn't really my type."

"What is your _type_ , then?"

"Well," Olivia drawls, coming around to where Emily's in bed, sitting down on the edge of it and tracing small, light circles on Emily's thigh through the shirt. "At the moment, I'd say my type is cute brunettes who have a particular interest in inter-office affairs. Especially when said affairs happen in her bed," Olivia smirks, leaning in and kissing Emily so lightly that Emily can feel her heart turn over slowly in her chest as Olivia pulls back and stares at her with wide, bright eyes. "And I think I'm rather fond of this type; it may just be my favorite."

Emily chuckles and shakes her head. "I bet you say that same sort of thing to _everyone_."

"Maybe," Olivia says, still smirking. "But, you'll never know."

"Come here," Emily laughs, reaching for her, pulling her back into bed.

 

;;

 

Emily had half-expected her and Olivia's encounter to be a one night stand sort of thing, which is exactly why she's more than a little pleased when Olivia calls her the next day and asks if Emily would like to go somewhere with her. They end up at a place in the park across from Emily's apartment that Emily secretly considers her spot; it's a little bench off on the very edge of William Jennings Bryan's park, across from one of the park's smaller fountains.

It's one of the less populated areas of the park and Emily likes that idea of being able to be in her own little world in one of the city's busiest areas. From the bench she can just make out the glint of gold from the capital building's roof and it always fills her with an odd rush of excitement.

"It's a lovely," Olivia says, as they sit on the bench, sipping their drinks; a chai tea for Emily and coffee, black, no sugar for Olivia. "Do you come here often?"

"Not really," Emily says, uncaps her tea to blow on it a little. "I mean, when I have days off and if the weather's nice, I like to come and just sit for a little while. But it's hard a lot of the time to just get a chance to relax, especially with my line of work." She chuckles. "Any time when you get a chance to relax, of course that's when you're going to get a call about a case. But," she adds, glancing over at Olivia with a slight smile, "I'm sure it's the same for you, isn't it?"

Olivia shrugs. "Depends. Some weeks are better than others. Like right now, being in D.C., that isn't so bad. Other times, well . . ." she trails off, running a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "It's just tricky, I guess."

Emily makes a murmur of agreement. Then, "So how much longer are you going to be here?"

There's a slight pause and then Olivia flushes the tiniest bit. "Tonight, actually," she says, in a quiet voice. "I've got to head back up to Boston for a day to get some of my things in order and then I have to fly off to Michigan for a case."

"Well, thanks for the advance notice," Emily says; it comes out sounding a lot more bitter than she intends.

There's a long pause and then Olivia sighs, taking off the lid of her coffee and blowing on it gently in an attempt to cool it off. "Sorry," she says, after a minute longer. "I probably should have, you know, said something sooner. Sorry."

Emily sighs as well. "It's fine. I just -- am I going to see you again?"

Olivia gives her a strange look, like she's confused about what Emily's asking. "Yes, of course," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

 

;;

 

Two months later and they're falling into bed again; Emily cups Olivia's face in her hands and kisses her as hard as she can; she's missed kissing Olivia perhaps the most of all.

 

;;

 

"I still don't know anything about you," Emily sighs that Sunday afternoon, when they're lounging on the couch in Emily's living room, watching old re-runs on television. Olivia had gotten up only moment ago to throw open the curtains and now they were lying in a pool of warm, soft light that made Emily sleepy.

Olivia yawns and presses a kiss to Emily's temple.

There's a long, heavy pause, until finally Emily sighs and says, "See, this is the part where you're supposed to open up and start telling me things about you."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Just -- I want to know who you are."

"Um, let's see. I'm the only one in my family with green eyes. I had a grade point average of 5.96 in high school. My favorite subject was Biology. I studied Biochemical Criminology in school with a side study in Psychology. My mother's maiden name is Pierce. I -- "

Emily shoves her away, annoyed. "You know that's not what I meant," she says, eyes flashing. "I don't want to know like, what your favorite color is or something like that. That doesn't tell me anything about you. I want to know who you _are_. I want to know things about you that people don't know. Just tell me -- tell me something . . . _true_."

"All of that's true," Olivia says, frowning. "I don't know what you want to hear."

"Come on," Emily prods. "It isn't that hard; just tell me something true. Tell me the truest thing you know."

There's a long, long pause until Olivia finally says, "I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" Emily repeats, slightly confused and a bit startled by the sober tone in Olivia's voice. "What are you afraid of?"

Olivia forces a laugh. "Well, therein lies the problem," she says, looking down at her hands. "I can't really tell you. Well, no, I mean, I don't really know. I just -- I'm just _afraid_ , you know? It's the sense of the forever approaching unknown that bothers me the most. Sometimes I think I know where I'm headed and what's going to come, but then I get thrown completely off track by something I never expected, and -- ugh," Olivia gives a frustrated sigh, jabbing her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. "I can't explain it, really. But, being afraid? Fear, itself? That's the truest thing that I know."

Emily doesn't quite know what to say to that. "Well," she starts, before she's interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing; she springs up from the couch to retrieve it. It's a text from Hotch, telling everyone to come into the BAU immediately.  
  
"Sorry." Emily flashes Olivia an apologetic smile before striding forward and giving her a quick kiss. "It's work -- they're calling everyone in. I guess it's some new high priority case that they need us to get started on immediately."

"It's okay," Olivia says, shrugging, standing up and watching Emily slip on her shoes and button up her coat. "Will you be traveling tonight?"

"Don't know. Probably, yeah. Most likely. Sorry," Emily says again, feeling guilty despite herself.

Olivia shortens the distance between them with three long strides. She hooks her fingers into the front of Emily's jacket, pulls her in even closer. Kisses her once, softly, on the mouth. "I'll be okay," she says, grinning wolfishly. "And since I'm the one always leaving you, I think it's only fair that I get to be the one gets left behind once and a while."  
  
"Well, when you put it like that," Emily murmurs with a slight smile, kisses her again, just before Olivia laughs and pushes her lightly towards the door.  
  
"Go on then, Nancy Drew," she says, smirking.

 

;;

 

"I'm sure she's fine," JJ says, next to her in the car, as Emily checks her phone for the thousandth time that evening. "Her flight probably just got delayed due to the storm they're having on the coast."

"What?" Emily starts, flushing. "How did -- "

"Please," JJ grins at her. "You didn't really expect Garcia not to say anything to me, did you? Besides, you're not every good at being subtle when it comes to these sort of things."

Emily slouches in her seat. "Brilliant."

"Oh, cheer up, Emily," JJ says with a tone of amusement, patting her on the wrist. "It's not like everyone on the team knows. Well, Reid doesn't, anyway. Mostly everyone's just impressed that you managed to pin down someone like Olivia. She's not exactly a shining example of commitment -- you know, among other things."

"Honestly, I feel like I'm the only person who _doesn't_ know everything about Olivia," Emily sighs, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

JJ shrugs. "That's probably why she likes you, then," she says. "Because, you know. You're different."

 

;;

 

Three weeks later, in bed, the sheets draped precariously over them both, Olivia says, "I may be gone, soon."

Emily's head is hazy from sex and sleep. "Mm?"

Olivia shifts in closer, bowing her head to press a kiss to where Emily's neck and shoulder's meet, then inward, to the hollow space of her throat. Emily sighs, smiles, melts into her touch. She catches Olivia's wandering hand, draws it down to her stomach, then lower, arching up and draping one leg around Olivia's waist.

"But I'll come back," Olivia murmurs against Emily's ear, fingers flexing and working, slowly. "I don't know for how long I'll be gone, but I'll be back."

"Why?" Emily asks, sucking on a spot on Olivia's neck. "Where are you going? What do you have to do?"

Olivia groans, frustrated. "I can't tell you," she says, quickening the pace of her fingers. "I can't, and I wish I could, and the problem is, I don't even really know _myself_ what's in store for me. I won't know until it happens and I wish I just had some idea, because -- everything is just so complicated, Emily, really, and I -- "

"Olivia," Emily starts, arching into her touch. "What are you -- "

"I mean, it's the end of the world, maybe," Olivia says, and bites down hard enough on Emily's shoulder to draw blood, marking her. Emily groans, pulls her in for a rough kiss, jerking against Olivia's hand, desperately wanting.

 

;;

 

"Olive," Emily says, the next morning, half-asleep, reaching for Olivia, whose hair is so bright in the morning sunlight that it looks like a halo around her head. "I just remembered -- the end of the world. What was that about?"

"Nothing," Olivia says, pushing the hair out of Emily's eyes and leaning in to kiss her. "It wasn't anything at all."

Emily sighs contentedly, kisses back lazily, tongue just brushing along Olivia's bottom lip. "You have to leave today, right?"

"Right."

"But not until this afternoon."

Olivia's grins at her conspiratorially. "Yes. Why? Did you have something in mind for our last morning together?"

"Don't say that," Emily groans, reaching for her. She wraps her arms around Olivia's waist, hands pressing against the small of Olivia's back. "When you say it like that it makes it sound as if you're never coming back at all." She kisses Olivia again, once, twice. "I know you don't know how long you'll be gone for, but --"

"I'll be back before you know it," Olivia says, interrupting.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I don't even know you," Emily sighs, much, much later, when she's sitting in her kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, a sheet wrapped loosely around her. She's watching Olivia, clad only in her underwear and an over-sized dress shirt, spreading raspberry jam on her toast. "Do you ever feel like that too? I mean, that you don't know who I am?"

Olivia sighs, turns. "Emily. We've only just known each other for what -- well, we've known _about_ each other for almost a year now, but we've slept together only about a dozen or so times and those kind of encounters generally don't lead to many deep conservations. And you know how difficult it is for us to see each other, what with our schedules and everything."

"I know."

"Look," Olivia sighs again, slides into the empty seat at the kitchen table next to Emily. "When I get back, I promise we can spend more time together. I'll ask for some time off, maybe, and we can just spend some time, you know, _together_. And we can turn this into a proper relationship."

Emily's face relaxes into a sleepy smile. "Really?"

"I wouldn't lie," Olivia says.

 

\- -

 

**PART TWO : JANIS**   


 

She's been in this world for one year, five months, sixteen days, twelve hours, and forty-two seconds. Forty-three. Forty-four. Not like she's counting, mind, but she kind of sort of is. When the Fringe Division had called her up and told her what they wanted her to do, she'd assumed the job was going to take a year, tops, but here she is, still waiting to go back home.

It isn't as though this world is so bad, it's just that it isn't hers. Here, the only time she needs to do any sort of complex coding is when she has to bypass the security codes at Massive Dynamic; she'd been amazed when she'd first booted up her computer and seen the way it was structured. She'd been told, obviously, that things were different over here, but it was so strange, seeing it for her herself. Everything seemed just a little bit off -- simpler, but at the same time also more difficult. She managed to blue screen the computer four times in the first week by trying to make it run all the scripts that she wanted and eventually just decided to buy her own laptop, wipe it clean, and run everything through the disk operating system.

At least then she wouldn't get rusty with her coding, she told herself.

Of course, she'd never planned on staying this long, but it hadn't helped much that she managed to get herself shot seven months into the project. Fringe Division had let her know right away that she couldn't cross back over, not when she had trace amounts of metal in her body from the bullet, which had left her with a nasty scar on her lower abdomen. So until the Division learned how to negate the effects of crossing over with a contaminated body, she was stuck. Stuck here in a world where no one knew who she really was.

They all thought she was the _real_ Janis Hawk, the girl who'd graduated with a law degree from UCLA, the girl they'd all trained with at Quantico. And none of it was true. Well, it was, but it wasn't -- not for her, anyway. Janis hadn't gone to UCLA, she'd gone to Old MIT and she'd been picked right out of school to be a member of the Division, no other training required. The Division hadn't wanted someone who could hold their own out in the field (though Janis could, she'd taken martial arts classes all her life and prided herself in excelling in those areas), but rather they'd wanted someone who could just blend in with the masses. Someone who could get themselves into job positions that would provide them with the most benefits and the least amount of problems.

And they'd decided Janis had been that just that kind of person, a fact that both amused and puzzled her. She didn't really think she had the skills to be a double agent. Or well, triple agent, technically. But the Division told her that they wanted her and who was she to refuse, really? It was damn near impossible to get into the Division, even with years and years of experience. She'd been beyond flattered.

She hadn't, of course, counted on having to jump to another universe in a mission aimed at making sure a future apocalyptic war went their way.

And she'd counted even less on Olivia Dunham.

 

;;

 

They only communicate via email.

"You can't ever meet her," Olivia had told her, when the Division had gone down to Washington more than a year ago, to discuss their plan of action. "Their -- the other world's -- Olivia was experimented on as a little girl and as such, she has a fairly impressive array of psychic abilities. This includes being able to tell when something or someone isn't from her world. She's described it as a sort of 'glimmer.' If she ever sees you, she'll know that you're not the real Janis. And to say that would complicate matters would be a gross understatement."

"Wait, though," Janis'd said, looking up from her notes. "Won't she wonder why someone from inside the FBI is feeding her information?"

Olivia grinned. "And that's where your computer expertise comes in," she said. "Their Olivia works closely with two FBI consultants, both of whom will no doubt attempt to discover who you are. Which is why you have to let them find you -- not _you_ of course nor the real Janis. They need to think the information is coming from Massive Dynamic."

"And we'll be feeding Massive Dynamic the same information under the guise of an outside contractor." Janis had grinned. "How many agents does this make me now?"

"You'll be required to send us weekly reports with monthly summaries," Broyles said, from where he was standing at the window, across the room. "Let us know how well you're adapting, how the information you're sending out is being received. That Olivia is very skeptical and will take a bit of convincing. Hold back a bit at first to pique her interest. Once she invariably discovers that the information is being sent from -- what she thinks is -- Massive Dynamic, in particular, Nina Sharp, she'll be more receptive."

Janis sat back in her chair, rubbing at her eyes, exhausted from the night earlier, which she'd spent reviewing the process for crossovers. "What about Janis?" she asked, after a moment. "Are you sure the imprinting will hold for as long as it takes to finish the job? And do we know how _good_ it will actually be? It's a big risk, I think -- the BAU team will know if even the slightest thing about her is off. Wouldn't it just be best to say I got moved to another department?"

"We need to keep you with the BAU," Olivia had told her. "You're in a unique position wherein you can hear about all sorts of unusual crimes. The Division is only so big -- we need someone who can keep an eye out for incidents that may slip through the cracks."

Janis folded her hands in her lap. "So what about your girlfriend?"

Olivia had looked startled. "What? You mean Emily?"

"Right."

"She's not my girlfriend," Olivia told her, in a stoic voice. "Not really. She's more -- anyway, what about her?"

"She's clever. Like I was saying, people will notice if there's something off about me. Or, well, _not_ me. And she'll be one of the first people to say something. And will you really be able to deceive her for that long? If she has even the slightest idea of what we're working on here -- "

Broyles said, "I'm sure Agent Dunham is aware of the risks, Agent Hawk. The Fringe Division had already factored in all possible outcomes. There isn't any need to worry about our mission being compromised; no one even knows exactly what the plan is except for the three of us. Which is how it will stay; it's the only way to ensure success."

"Besides," Olivia had told her. "We won't actually have to deceive Emily at all."

Janis crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh?"

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you heard about the new imprinting program? The engineers have made vast improvements for the delta version. Instead of just overlaying new memories on top of old ones, they've found a way to completely _remove_ the original memories and personalities of a subject. Then they replace those erased memories and traits with whatever they desire -- they can make a whole new person, if they'd like. They call it getting a 'treatment,'" she'd said, grinning. "When we cross you over, you'll get all of that world's Janis memories. But you'll still retain your own; you'll just have the knowledge you need to survive in that world. But the _other_ Janis, well -- for all intents and purposes, she'll actually _be_ you. She won't remember her old life at all; it'll be like she was born as _you_."

"So how will you be able to tell the differences between us, then, once it's time for us to switch again? It sounds like a cinematic dilemma waiting to happen."

"That Janis will be imprinted with a trigger phrase, too," Broyles said. "When it's spoken, she'll be returned to a tabula rasa state, ready to be imprinted with her old memories and personalities and be returned to her world. As Agent Dunham said, all possible scenarios have been considered."

Janis had grinned and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Well, then. When do we start?"

 

;;

 

Every week or so Janis would write a new script that would block her IP address and any other information that could be traced back to her, making sure to leave the slightest hint logged in the encrypted information that would point whoever was looking in the direction of Massive Dynamic. And someone _was_ looking -- Janis had embedded a tracker deep within the first email she sent, which she used to see what activity was occurring thanks to her messages.

Sometimes Olivia responded to her messages -- always the same thing: _Who are you?_

It wasn't like Janis could respond to something like that, so she'd always just delete the email and forget about it. But over time, she began to wonder what it would be like if she actually wrote back. If she just sat down and wrote out the whole plan and told Olivia exactly who she was and why she was here. It would make everything so much easier for Janis, to just finally get it off her chest. To be able to say the words out loud. Of course, though, Olivia couldn't know. Not now and not ever. When all was said and done, all Janis could do is pack up and cross back over into her own world. Try to forget this one and everyone in it.

Like everything, though, eventually she was worn down.

 _I can't tell you who I am,_ she'd finally written back, one early January morning, when she'd been unable to sleep. She'd been up until midnight writing her report to send back to the Division and when she'd gone to bed, sleep had completely evaded her. Oh, what the hell, she'd finally decided. Writing back couldn't hurt, not when there was no way for Olivia to be able to track her down anyway.

A few hours later, she got a response: _Why are you sending me all this information?_

 _To help you_ , Janis wrote back, that afternoon. _I can't tell you why, but you have to trust me: I want to help you. I know things about you. I know what is going to happen to you. Like everything else, I can't explain why or how I know this. In time, though, everything will become clear._

The reply came only minutes later: _Will I ever be able to meet you?_

At first Janis wrote _No_ , but after a moment's hesitation she deleted that. _Maybe._

 

;;

 

The first flashforward had been the worst.

They'd done a few dry runs, of course, on a smaller test scale, but looking back on it now it was obvious to see that they hadn't anticipated the actual _scope_ of the blackout. They'd planned on only a limited area being affected, but when they'd awoken two minutes and seventeen seconds past the hour, they saw that entire world had blacked out and the consequences of that had been devastating. GBO, the organization sponsoring the project had taken the brunt of the backlash and the Division was able to work behind the scenes and clean up most of the mess. But if anything good had come from the tragedy, it was that they were able to assess the project and make appropriate changes; they developed a second, updated version of the acceleration machine, which produced the desired results that the beta version had not.

It was through the flashforwards that they learned about the coming war; though flashforwards only showed a _possible_ future and not the _actual_ future, Janis and the others had witnessed enough destruction to be worried enough to put in a call to the state office and bring the information to Olivia and the others. It being only just one future out of dozens and dozens of possible futures, meant that it could be avoided.

Over the next four months they ran a dozen more blackout tests, in order to gain as much information about this apocalyptic future as they could. Janis kept a log of all her flashforwards, meticulously documenting every detail and making the others do the same. Knowledge was power, after all, and as Olivia always told them, the only way you could ever truly be ready for anything was to examine all possible scenarios and account for them.

Janis' first flashforward was the first time she'd seen _her_. The other Olivia. She looked almost exactly like Janis' Olivia, right down to the cut and styling of her hair, but Janis knew they weren't the same at all, not really. Their only similiarites were superficial ones. Where the other Olivia was weak, her Olivia was strong. Where her Olivia was lacking, this Olivia excelled. They were two sides of the same coin.

She saw the other Olivia in every other flashforward after that, too. They never interacted, but in this version of the future, Janis was always nearby the other Olivia. Sitting in a coffee shop, three tables over. Standing on the opposite sides of a street. They were always together. In every possible future, it was always them, together. As if their futures could and would always be intertwined, as if there was no way a future _without_ them together could even exist.

(Maybe it was them, Janis thought, who were the two sides to the same coin.)

She was seeing significance in something insignificant, she tried to tell herself. That was all it was. And anyway, it was impossible for her to be with Olivia, when they existed in completely different universes altogether. It must have been the _other_ Janis -- she tried to convince herself of this, even though she knew, deep down, that it was really her, not the other Janis. Experiencing a flashforward meant that it felt as though she was actually living in the very moment she was witnessing; she knew how she felt, what had happened that led up to this moment, who and where she was -- everything.

And even though she didn't want to, she recognized the feeling of her heart swelling in her chest as she watched Olivia over the top of her book. She knew what it meant when her stomach twisted into knots and it felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs. She knew why it felt like the world had stopped turning.

The simple truth of that matter, was: she was in love with an Olivia Dunham from another world.

So of course when Olivia decided that something had to be done to prevent this war from happening -- or, at any rate, keep the now crumbling universe from winning it -- Janis knew exactly what needed to be done. And she knew, also, that in part she was motivated by selfish reasons, but she told herself that that didn't matter; all of her selfishness was dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of what one possible future held.

(Or so she told herself, anyway -- and maybe even half-believed it.)

 

;;

 

_Thanks for your help on the last case._

_Glad I could help._

_I didn't tell anyone where I got the insight that the virus may have been based off computer coding -- I hope you don't mind. Nina Sharp and I are the only ones who know that you, whoever you are, exist, and I'd like to keep it that way. For now, anyway._

Janis smiles. _If you can keep a secret, I can keep a secret._

 

;;

 

She imagines Olivia imagining her. This is her salvation.

 

\- -

 

**PART THREE : OLIVIA**   


 

It all started on October 23rd, 2009. Olivia remembered the day specifically because it's when she first noticed that the leaves had started to change color, and she walking out her door that morning she'd felt such a sense of possibility. Which, of course, had made it all that much more shocking when she'd received the news about the two other universes, hovering on the verge of war. Broyles had called her and they'd met with Peter, Walter, Janis, and a few other higher-ups from the state office to discuss what was, as Walter put it, the inevitable advent of the apocalypse.

He'd gone on to explain that only one universe would be able to survive the outcome of the war. If the already unstable universe was to survive, it eventually would begin to merge with their _own_ universe, which would lead to yet another war. And the outcome, Walter had concluded, would not be ideal. Even if their own universe was to survive.

"What are we going to do?" Olivia had asked with a frown, folding her arms. "How can we prevent something like that from happening?"

"Well, that's easy enough," Janis'd said, smirking. "Sabotage."

 

;;

 

She'd been interested in Emily since the first time they'd met.

If there had been one benefit to the drug trials she'd participated in in her last year of high school -- aside from the money, that is -- it was that she'd picked up a few tricks along with them; and one of those tricks was being able to read people. And Emily was no exception; from the first moment they locked eyes, Olivia climbing out of her car, Emily standing over the crime scene, Olivia had just _known_. It was a strange sort of knowing, not really _knowing_ at all, more like _feeling_ ; she had felt a connection. Like a spark, instantaneous.

"Why were you there anyway?" Emily had asked once.

The truth was because Janis had tipped them off, but Olivia couldn't say that, not to Emily, so she'd made an off-hand remark about it being in their jurisdiction and had quickly followed the comment up with a light, teasing kiss, just to ensure Emily wouldn't press the issue. It wasn't as if Olivia minded lying to Emily -- after all, she'd spent most of her life lying; it came naturally to her -- but she knew that she _should_ mind it, and it was the knowledge of that that always left her feeling uncomfortably guilty.

She knew that Emily liked her. Loved her, even, maybe, though the problem with being able to read people was that sometimes things got muddled along the way and she couldn't always be sure which feelings were her own and which were Emily's, which was inherently annoying.

Now and then she'd been tempted to ask Janis if she'd ever seen anything regarding Emily, but she'd never quite worked up the nerve to. She could barely remember her own flashforward from the The Blackout; all she remembered seeing was the sky pulling up into herself, but that felt more like a dream than reality to her. When she'd pressed Janis once to recall anything else in her flashforward besides the signs of the impending war, Janis had flushed a deep red color and Emily had felt Janis' embarrassment wash over her like a wave; she hadn't asked again after that. Still, she felt as though her own fleeting glimpses of the future, just a step or two ahead of everyone else every now and then was all that she really needed; it was consuming enough to worry about a possible apocalyptic future, she didn't need love complicating things any further.

A knock on her door startles her out of her thoughts. "Yes?"

It's Lincoln; "Colonel Broyles says he wants all of us to meet in the conference room in it," he says, gripping a small stack of files. "It's a new case that he wants us to look over, says that's priority. It came straight from the Secretary of State."

Olivia offers him a slight smile. "I'll be there. Thanks."

A nod and he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft _click_.

Olivia sighs, frowning at her computer screen; she's been trying to make progress on her report from the Fringe Division's last case. Fringe detective work came easy to her even in this world, but even know after three months she still worries about slipping up, about saying the wrong thing. This world was so _different_ from her own. The Division back in her real universe that assured her that the memory imprints they'd given her would last as long as she needed them to, but she also knew that even just one wrong word in a report would make her seem suspicious and lead to an internal investigation. Bishop, the Secretary of State, would make sure of it.

She's met him only once, when she went with Colonel Broyles to discuss a recent case. She prided herself on not being easily imitated, but Bishop had caught her off guard. She isn't sure if it was his stoicism or the fact that everything he said had the slightest edge to it, like the thin blade of a knife. He'd radiated bitterness and hatred, basis indeterminable, and it had unnerved her.

(She understands now, though, how just a single person could destroy a whole world.)

 

;;

 

She knows it isn't right, but she seeks out Emily, _this_ Emily anyway.

It's a strange sort of desire, but curiosity always is, she thinks, as she gets into the elevator and punches the button for the seventh floor, for the Behavorival Analysis Division. As the elevator slides upwards, one slow _ding_ at a time, she wonders what Emily is like in this world, wonders how much or little she is different from _her_ Emily. Wonders if she still prefers whiskey to any other drink, wonders if she stays up half the night because she's too busy thinking on something that bothers no one else. Wonders about the cut of her hair, the tone of her voice, if her eyes are just as bright and sharp.

Wonders how many languages she speaks. If she chews on her bottom lip when she's thinking. If she'll say Olivia's name the same way.

In her mind she runs over her explanation for coming to see Emily: she wants to go over a case from a year ago. It bears no relevance to the Fringe Division in any way, of course, but she knows it won't matter, because Emily, no matter what world she's in, would be pleased to discuss a case she'd played a crucial role in solving.

Olivia swallows, straightens her blazer, clenches and unclenches her first as elevator doors slide open. She realizes, then, stepping onto the floor: she's nervous. It feel so foreign to her, nervousness. She's felt fear before of course -- always and often, really -- but nervousness is different. It sets her on edge. She's always felt like the drugs took nervousness from her entirely; from there on out she had always felt nothing but an overabundance of confidence.

It's comforting, in a strange way.

When she gets to the office for the Behavorival Division, she's sent in the direction of Emily's office via a dismissive wave. She braces herself, knocking on the door frame. Emily, her back to Olivia, spins around slowly in her chair, and all at once Olivia both disappointed and overwhelmed by the sight of her. She _is_ Emily, of course, but not her as well. She has bangs like Olivia does, for one. And her clothes seem somehow even more conservative in style than Olivia's Emily.

Emily folds her hands in her lap, staring across the room expectantly. "Yes?"

"Hi," Olivia says, stepping a bit further into the office. "I'm Special Agent Olivia Dunham. Um, from the Fringe Division." She reaches into the bag draped over one shoulder, pulls out a file, holds it out tentatively towards Emily, like a peace offering. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about a case you worked on last May. I thought it might help with something I'm working on right now."

A slow, easy smile breaks out across Emily's face and Olivia can't help but smile back because, yes, this is _definitely_ Emily.

It's not _her_ Emily though, as she quickly discovers. This Emily is quicker with a smile, more relaxed, more sure of herself. She exudes confidence and cleverness and is decidedly more self-assurance than Olivia thinks her own Emily will ever be. But she's cocky too, not like the Emily from Olivia's world, and it's _that_ that bothers Olivia the most.

 

;;

 

The greatest acting on her part though comes through when she's with Frank.

She'd known before she crossed over that _this_ Olivia had a boyfriend, but in a way she'd sort of expected that she wouldn't have to bother with him; after all, it was more than a little off-putting to think about kissing a complete stranger and having to pretend you were in love with them. And the first time he _had_ gone to kiss her, she'd physically recoiled from him; it had been more than a bit difficult to explain away as just nerves from a case, but she was certain that once she started tugging on his belt to work it undone, he'd forgotten all about it.

When they sleep together, she thinks about Emily. She can't help it. When his hand slips around to unhook her bra, when he kisses the space between her breasts, she thinks of Emily's hair tickling her skin. His knee brushing against her thigh becomes Emily's fingers; his fingers, her mouth. She pretends because she has to, because being believed is the whole point. Because this isn't about her right now, it's about the world. It's about sacrificing for the greater good.

And then, somehow, without even realizing it, Frank becomes less of _her_ Emily and less of this world's Emily. An Emily with a sharper tongue, a smile that's harder to come by. Dressed in clothes to match the men around her; dark suits with crisp, pressed shirts and blood red ties. She doesn't know how it's happened.

It terrifies her, the idea of forgetting the Emily that she left behind, the Emily that she loves. She tries to think about Emily: Emily in the park; Emily in her bed; Emily in the sunlight, laughing. It feels strange, like she's dredging up a long forgotten memory. It twists her stomach into knots and makes her feel like she's going to be sick.

"You okay?" Frank asks, curling up next to her in bed and pressing feather-light kisses against her shoulder.

"I'm fine," Olivia says.

It feels like a mantra to herself, almost: I am fine. There is nothing wrong.

(Maybe it's true.)

 

;;

 

She imagines her Emily with the other Olivia.

In her mind, Emily is clever. She sees the differences, knows that the Olivia she's kissing now isn't the one she first kissed. Knows that there's something wrong. That Emily is the one who does everything she can to get her Olivia back. In truth, Olivia knows that Emily has not noticed a thing. She doesn't see the differences. She doesn't fight to get Olivia back -- she already has her.

In her mind, Olivia thinks she's irreplaceable.

(In truth, she knows _that_ Olivia, the not-her, is doing a better job being her than _she_ ever did.)

 

;;

 

When she and Broyles are called in to the state department for a meeting with Secretary Bishop, the first thing Olivia does is mentally retrace her steps and see if maybe there was ever a moment -- and that's all it would take, simply a moment -- where she slipped up and said or did the wrong thing. She's been impossibly careful, she knows, but it isn't until Secretary Bishop explains the nature of the meeting does the feeling of dread finally subside.

His plan is this: to infiltrate the Fringe Division in the other world, the one that's causing _this_ world to crumble in on itself. It's to restore the universal balance, he says vaguely, glancing down at a row of photos on his desk; photos of his son, Olivia knows, almost instinctively. She doesn't know this, but the _other_ Olivia does, the one that belongs in this world. Bishop's son, who went missing some twenty odd years prior.

(And there is it, just the faintest of mental connections; hadn't Janis mentioned the name _Bishop_ in her last report?)

"Agent Dunham," Secretary Bishop says, snapping her to attention. "I'm sure that it goes without saying that your cooperation and expertise in this matter would be more than appreciated." A pause, a smile that shows a bit too much teeth. "Just think of the great service you would be doing not just for the United States, but for the world as well. This would give us a chance to bring balance to the universes. To fix our mistakes. To ensure our survival."

"Of course I'll do it," Olivia says, without a moment's hesitation. After all, could she say anything less?

 

\- -

 

**PART FOUR : EMILY**   


 

It's little things, but she notices them.

She knows that she's probably just over-analyzing everything, like JJ has always told her she is very wont to do, but she can't help it. It seems, to Emily, as though Olivia has changed in some way. There are things here and there that Olivia says and does that feel somewhat off; she can't explain it, but it's more of a _feeling_ than a _knowing_ , really. It's in the way Olivia looks at her sometimes, as if she doesn't really know who Emily is. It's how everything she does seems practiced instead of instinctive.

Her smile comes easier. Her touches are rougher. It's all little things. Emily tries not to notice them. Perhaps, she tells herself, those things were always there and she just hadn't taken note of them until now. For the first couple of months or so, they'd only seen each other a handful of times -- and most of those moments they'd shared had been brief. A touch here, a kiss there. A few times when they'd tumbled into bed, frantic with the edge of lust and alcohol. She had to admit that she didn't really _know_ Olivia -- not enough, anyway.

Maybe it was _her_ that was the problem after all, not Olivia.

Certainly that had to be it.

 

;;

 

"I'm thinking about asking for a transfer," Olivia announces one evening, when they're in bed.

Emily props herself up on an elbow. "Oh?"

"I just think it would be nice, is all," Olivia says, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her head on her folded arms, eyes closed. She's wearing that sleepy sort of smile that always makes Emily want to kiss her. "That way even if we both have to travel, at least in the end we'll always come back to each other."

"That's surprisingly . . . romantic. I never figured you'd be the type."

"Well," Olivia grins. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

Emily leans forward, traces her fingers over the slope of Olivia's back. Kisses the intricate tattoo at the base of her neck.


End file.
